A Beautiful Monstrosity
by littleornaments
Summary: Her lips enunciating pleasure. He stalled. Licked his own. "Depends what's up for offer," he murmured, grey eyes perusing the menu. He didn't dare look at her. "Another beverage, perhaps? Something more suited to dusk instead of dawn?" Their eyes met and the waiter arrived. A one-shot where Hermione and Draco indulge themselves outside the office.


It was dark out, and Hermione had to leave for the Ministry Christmas party. With a sigh she downed a half shot of whiskey. For the nerves.

Reflecting on her day, she thought about her encounter with Malfoy. She regularly saw him in her department. In fact, he was there to check over some legislation in regard to the lawful treatment of Hippogriffs. She'd made a joke about his run in with Buckbeak at Hogwarts, laughing while he scowled at her. He held some overpaid position as a result of his father. The war may have been won but the bureaucrats remained the same, and so, that's why she hated these things. These stupid face-saving parties held by the ministry. Half of the wizard population in Britain was in poverty and yet the ministry throws lavish parties for their already overpaid employees. What a load of bollocks.

The war heroes didn't end up being so gallant after all. They lived lives of unbound luxury, taking what they thought they deserved for their efforts. Hermione tried to avoid them like the plague, now. Harry and Ron of course embraced everything that came their way, which unsurprisingly, was a lot. Women, money, goods, jobs, all of it. During the few years since Hogwarts, Hermione had crawled her way up the Ministry ladder, becoming more disillusioned with each rung. It was a disgusting place full of quid pro quo's and moneyed individuals looking out for each other's corrupted arses. She was a hypocrite, though, and she knew it. She received her position at the ministry solely on the back of her affiliation with the Order. There's no way a woman of 24 would have a job in the department of magical creatures that _didn't _consist of fetching tea and printing all day. More people from Hogwarts than expected had ended up working for the ministry. Her friends from Hogwarts were never far.

Every day felt more like she was suffocating. Same bloody people doing the same bloody things; it was just as incestuous as Hogwarts had been. She wanted to get _away_ from her past, not fester in it.

Shutting her book with a loud snap and collecting her coat, she headed for the Floo.

Butting out a cigarette on a building in London, Draco's eyes strayed to the sky. Only the brightest star was out tonight, or perhaps it was a planet. Despite being named after a constellation he never had much of an interest in astronomy. To the naked eye it was a black sky and to the naked skin it was bloody cold. Breathing out his smoke into the freezing British winter, he buttoned up his cloak and strode towards the entryway for the Ministry of Magic. He was horrifyingly late. It took him three glasses of whiskey to figure out whether he even wanted to leave his flat. These damn parties are always filled with employees getting drunk and doing regrettable things with their co-workers later that night. Last year he took home Pansy and that just about ruined their friendship. Hence this years' hesitation. He shook the memory of her shimmying out of that _tight, red_ dress that perfectly matched her _plump, red _lips and opened the door to the telephone booth. He entered the code and turned his back to the keypad, watching the buildings disappear as he descended below the earth.

This whole night will be a waste of time, he thought.

At 10pm Hermione Granger was unquestionably ready to leave. She'd spent enough time running into people from Hogwarts and talking to old stuffy ministry employees. God, she felt like a cigarette. When she was a child, she never thought she'd pick up the habit. And technically she hadn't, but when she was more stressed than usual, the odd cigarette didn't hurt. So, fuck it, that's exactly what she was going to do. She excused herself from a bland 40-something advisor, whose sickening breath caressed her skin in the most disgusting way possible and stalked towards the coat room. Did he really think he had a chance? His jokes were poorly timed, and his lack of social understanding sent her reeling. Eyeing her tailored robes amongst the rest of the mostly black formal garb, she slipped them on and left the party, smiling goodbye to an already sloshed Ron being held by Harry and Lavender.

What a mess. She was always put off with his lack of grace. When they'd dated post-war, he'd been the same boy she had a crush on, albeit more mentally unstable, with his bumbling limbs and underdeveloped brain. Not to mention the complete lack of table manners; she'd never seen anyone eat so fast in her life. She'd found herself fantasising about people who just… _weren't Ron_.

Eventually he'd cheated on her with Lavender. The tabloids screamed of a shattered wartime love story. Hermione had found the breakup surprisingly liberating.

The labyrinth of overly decorated halls felt empty. She knew that yule was a wizarding tradition, but for Merlin's sake, she _wished _this calibre of enchanted décor was impressive. By her standards it was simply too much. Most of the employees were still in the ballroom, and Hermione only saw some security personnel prowling he corridors. 21:15. She wondered how she would get home. One too many fire whiskeys to apparate, she decided. Her flat was far from Whitehall, where the Ministry was located, and public transport would surely be finished by now. With a sigh she continued on to the entrance of the draughty Atrium, the Ministry's huge lobby. The overbearing statue of the Golden Trio was staring her in the face, and she purposefully ignored her own metallic reflection. One more glance at the commemoration of Harry, Ron and Hermione SavingTheWorldTM would send her mad. She shivered. At night the Atrium was an endless room of shadows and unidentifiable noises. She heard footsteps advancing from the other side, and saw a familiar blond walking - no, striding her way.

Malfoy never merely _walked_ places.

"Ah, hello Granger." He said without a smile. His eyes looked slightly glassy. Was Malfoy turning up to the work party already pissed? "Heading out already?"

Her neck craned up at him as he stopped in front of her, hands shoved in pockets and the smell of smoke clinging to his coat. She decided to lighten the mood a tad. "Yes, Malfoy. You know what it's like in there. A disgusting hybrid of a high school reunion and a gathering of uncles."

He grimaced. "Don't make me want to turn around." She caught the smallest hint of alcohol on his breath, mixed pleasantly with tobacco and something she assumed was uniquely his.

Hermione didn't reply and his Adam's apple bobbed, his eyes flicking around the eerie room.

"Do you have a cigarette?" She asked as she felt at her empty coat pocket. "I'll owe you one."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, looking mildly entertained. "You want a cigarette?"

"Yes, Malfoy. In case you hadn't noticed, work parties are stressful." He didn't say anything, instead opting to keep his incredulous expression fixed. She rolled her eyes, realising she would need to elaborate. "Yes, it was really _that _bad. So, please, if you could stop infantilising me like we're still 15?"

He chuckled with about as much warmth as a Malfoy could probably muster; which wasn't much. "Fine, but I'm joining you, Granger," he grumbled, pulling the packet out of his coat and flicking them open towards her, "who could pass up the opportunity to have a cigarette with the war heroine herself." His eyes strayed behind her shoulder as she stepped in gingerly to pluck one out. "How does it feel to be immortalised in gold, Granger?"

She looked behind her shoulder at the ugly statue and shrugged, slipping the cigarette into her coat pocket before walking the way Malfoy came. "Pretty shit, but I'm not here to talk about the grievances of my past, Malfoy." He snorted and followed her, their voices ringing unnervingly around the empty room. "Why not? Isn't that all we're left to do at this point anyway? It can't be any more depressing than this place." He caught up quickly. Her legs, even in heels, were no match for his.

She ignored him, and they exited onto a London street in a dark alleyway. She wandlessly lit her cigarette and took a long drag, eyeing him thoughtfully the whole time. "I am sure yours are."

He looked confused. "My what?"

"The grievances of your life, Malfoy. I'm sure they're more depressing than this place," watching while he stared out into the darkness. She studied the shades of grey in his irises. She was surprised to find markings of blue. Malfoy always operated in monochrome.

He laughed humourlessly before taking the cigarette into his mouth and muttering a lighting incantation around it. "The grievances of my life have been dealt with." His neck turned and his eyes bored into her own. "Have yours, Hermione?"

He held her gaze for a merely a second before looking away. The end of the cigarette still shone orange and he closed his eyes, taking the first drag. His cheekbones were undeniably sharp, and her still-lingering eyes dragged down to his jawline. For such a pointy, inbred looking kid, his fair features matured well.

She decided not to answer his probing question and instead said; "Why are you so late to the party, Malfoy? Everyone's already sloshed." She was increasingly feeling the cold on her nose.

Draco exhaled slowly and Hermione realised the most exciting thing to happen to her this holiday season was a fag with Draco Malfoy in an alleyway. How miserable.

"The Weasel, you mean?" he asked with a smirk. Ron had rather a reputation for getting drunk at ministry events.

She laughed dryly, her breath crystallising in front of her face. "Yes, Ron is intoxicated… as expected", a perturbed exhale, "but so are a lot of people."

Draco watched as she took another drag. His eyes almost glowed in the dark. Such a distinct replica of sleet. She blinked, exhaling. His cheeks pinkened as the icy wind howled through the streets. "The Weasel does not need defence. Especially from you."

A pang of hurt in her chest. Of course, he knew. Everyone knew. That buggy bitch Rita Skeeter had published high and low about how Ron Weasley, the playboy, cheated on _Hermione Granger_. It was in the tabloids for weeks. Photographs in bars with his hand on some new and beautiful witch's leg undulated before her eyes every time she stepped foot in Diagon Alley. It had been hell.

"How many trashy tabloids did you have to buy to come to that conclusion, Malfoy?" She took a deep drag, needing the familiar burning sensation to dull the other pain in her chest. It had been hard to get over, no matter how bloody _fucking _cathartic it felt to be alone again.

"Obviously far too many." He said with a small grin.

"Obviously." She muttered, growing annoyed.

He breathed out heavily, breaking her silence. "So, what are you doing with the rest of your night, Granger?" Hermione was reminded how unlikely an event it was that her and Draco had somewhat become friends. He was a ministry lawyer and she worked in the department of magical creatures. They were often in contact with each other and had developed a rapport.

She brushed a stray hair behind her ear, her mane being caught and whipped around her face. "Walking home. How about you, Malfoy?" She raised the cigarette to her lips. He watched her.

He rocked back on his feet, breathing in the arctic air. "Me too."

She frowned. "Walking back to Malfoy Manor?" The thought of the place made her taste bile, and her forearm tingled, each letter of _Mudblood_ as defined as the day it was carved. For so long, she had tried, and moderately succeeded, to forget screaming on the floor of Malfoy Manor whilst his lunatic aunt Bellatrix carved the slur into her skin. She had not been so -moderately- successful with her skin. She remembered how she had been branded in his home, like a cow but more brutally. After she was done being tortured, her eyes rolled to the position where he stood, and she had stared at him. He wasn't hard to miss. Gaunt, in pain, broken. She could only watch as he stood, motionless, staring right back.

Right in front of her, and looking mysteriously at home in the alleyway, he shook his head and exhaled, smirking down at her endearingly. "No, Ganger. I'm a big boy now. I don't live with mummy and daddy anymore, though I don't blame you for thinking so." He shot her a tired smile and nodded his head in the direction of the southbound road. "I rent a flat in London."

"Ah." She breathed half-interestedly, nodding while she put out the cigarette. It was unfinished, but she was. This was beginning to become too much for her addled brain. She'd stopped feeling uncomfortable around Malfoy a long time ago, but the memories were rearing their ugly heads. It was time for some dreamless sleep potion and bed. That's what she did when it became bad.

"It's late and I should go. Merry Christmas, Draco." She murmured and, at the last minute, looked back at him before abruptly strolling away into the darkness.

When she looked back, she saw him standing alone in the dark. All black wool draped over a tall form with pale skin. His stature was more solid than ever, and his hair no longer looked like he'd stuck in in a bucket of gel. It was much softer and more… voluminous? Could she think that with a straight face? She saw as a lock blew across his eyes as they found hers. Draco was definitely still the pale ferret she'd known, but undoubtedly different.

She wasn't sure what to think when she decided that he, personally and not just publicly, had changed for the better.

Draco laid in bed staring at the ceiling. He always had a lot on his mind, but ever since he'd pulled open the bedroom door, he hadn't stopped thinking of how Granger would look splayed out in his room. She had looked back at him this evening. The light from the streetlamp shone off her hair and even from a distance, he could see just how long her eyelashes were. She'd looked exquisite. He sighed and rolled over, shoving his face into the pillow. It was late. He needed sleep. He refused to think about how relieved he was when he ran into her exiting the ministry. How he'd begun to find all his conversations meshing into one, beige-like mush.

How most people disinterested him.

How Hermione didn't.

When she laid in bed, naked and tired, she prepared to take her dreamless sleep potion. She held the vial in her fingers and her mind drifted to Malfoy standing in the dark as they shared their time. He'd been so close to her. So close she could faintly smell his cologne mixed with cigarette. Swooning wasn't an emotion she linked with Malfoy, but for that moment, she'd felt herself craving _something_. She didn't know what, and that scared her. She hadn't been sexually active since she broke off with Ron. Even when they were together, making love was never a daily event. Or even a weekly event. She'd obviously drank far too much alcohol. Steeling herself for the taste, she bottomed-up the vial and placed it beside her bed. For something supposed to send you to sleep, it tasted filthy.

Her thoughts were busy with swathes of thick wool and wayward blond hair before she was dragged under.

Striding out of the elevator and down the hall to his office, Draco stopped into the lunchroom. He hadn't had time for a tea this morning, and the next best thing was coffee. Merlin knows how much he hated the slop, but he was _technically _human, and it _would _give him the energy he needed to get through the morning; or else it would double his anxiety. It could swing either way, really. He took a filter and spooned espresso into it, pouring the water and waiting for the hot, shit-coloured liquid to finish filtering. Preferring to make beverages the muggle way ever since he moved into his own place, he patiently watched as steam curled up from the mug. He was briefly returned to the smoke billowing from Granger's mouth the other night. Avoiding the somewhat arousing memory, he endeavoured to focus on what his day entailed. Paperwork primarily. Rolling his eyes at the mind-numbing workload ahead of him, he spooned sugar into the mug and added a generous portion of milk before continuing toward his office.

When the door opened Hermione was inside, straight backed in a chair, and fussing over a handful of papers. "Granger." Malfoy snapped, narrowing his eyes at the intruder as she spun her head to look at him. "What are you doing here?"

He didn't like people being around in the morning, much less people being in his _space_.

If he looked annoyed, she didn't notice. Or she ignored it. He assumed the latter. "Sorry to have come in here so early, but I desperately need you to look at something." She bit her lip hopefully and he stared at her, thinking about how her lips danced around the word 'desperately'.

He cleared his throat. "Fine," he said curtly, sweeping around the desk to sit across from her and placing down the mug carefully. He had overfilled it. "What is it?"

"It's the Hippogriff legislation. I've found a loophole that can be exploited for wand-poachers to hunt them. Not for their feathers, but their hide." She flipped through the pages and messily thrust them over the table, pointing her finger to the bottom of the page.

"Look at this."

He quirked an eyebrow at her and took a tentative sip before looking down to study the text. "I thought we already combed this," he murmured in concentration. Hermione's eyes raked over his face as he read, settling on the slight frown between his eyebrows. It was rare that Malfoy made much facial expression. Probably a bid to keep his skin as impeccable as possible. She wouldn't put it past him, and if that was his strategy, it worked. Her eyes strayed to his coffee to distract herself from the artwork that was his face. She wondered what would happen if she asked him for his night routine. Perhaps it was calcium. She noticed the sheer amount of milk in his mug. How much coffee could really be in there? It seemed like he wanted the same amount of caffeine as a tea but with the taste of coffee.

Fucking Brits.

She looked back up at him and met his eyes. He had already been watching her.

"What's so interesting, Granger?" His gaze swept his own desk. Immaculately clean with expensive paper and well-organised quills. They returned to hers, deeply grey and expectant.

"Is that a coffee or a tea, Malfoy? I can't say I've ever seen someone use so much milk." She peered into the mug.

He shot her a dark look, not appreciating the quip atop this early inconvenience. "Coffee is disgusting, Granger. I try to eliminate the taste with milk and sugar. I have to say, it's not the most tantalising muggle drink." He took another sip. If he recoiled in disgust at the taste, she couldn't know. All he did was blink at her.

"Perhaps try some outside of the Ministry and you won't be disappointed. One of the many things the wizarding community fails at miserably and muggles master, is a good brew." Draco watched as she drank from her own cardboard cup to prove her point. Presumably picked up from some café in London during her commute.

"Granger I'm not wasting my time haunting muggle café's in order to get a caffeine fix. I can do with the dirty espresso they serve here. Or better yet, I can stop running out of time in the morning to make myself a tea."

"Running out of time in the mornings Malfoy?" She looked at him for a moment. "Not getting much sleep?" His eyes bore into hers. She knew that most people who were involved in the war weren't… terribly healthy, to put it lightly. Herself included. She hadn't slept through the night since she was 17, despite the potions. If she didn't take it, she'd be lucky to get 4 hours.

"I'm sleeping _fine, _Granger," he growled, his voice had lowered in annoyance. She was obviously overstepping a boundary.

She shrugged, unsurprised with his closedness. "Anyway, have you spotted the predicament?"

Draco reclined in his chair, ever regal, as Hermione left the room. Anxious; the coffee had definitely made him more anxious. Not that she could tell; he'd learnt to be good at hiding these things. Nonetheless, his pulse was hammering the whole time Hermione was sat in front of him. At one point she actually walked behind him and leant over his chair to point out something and her hair brushed across his back. It took all self-control not to take a deep breath of citrus that hovered around him. He took a steadying breath and looked down at the corrections they'd made together over the hour. She'd magically duplicated the parchment and left him a copy. They worked well together. Better than the people writing the legislation itself. It was a thorough job, he thought.

Hermione caught Draco as he was leaving. It was 5pm on a Friday and all the ministry employees were hurrying out of the Atrium.

Draco usually avoided this place. He had a Floo in his own office, but for reasons unbeknownst to him, it was broken. And so, he joined the rat race. By the look of the place it seemed like _everyone's _Floo had broken down.

Making her own way out, Hermione spotted a head of blonde hair poking out above the rest. She took a breath and hurried towards him, her 5'6 stature making it relatively easy to push through the crowd. "Malfoy." She called, and she saw him turn in recognition. A slight smirk appeared on his face when he caught sight of her breathless, tousled, and red in the face.

"God why is place so bloody _busy?" _She asked as she finally reached Draco and began walking alongside him.

He looked up to the ceiling in annoyance, rubbing his temples with long fingers. "Honestly, I usually dodge this place. My floo is broken. They're bringing in a technician tomorrow. Until then, I'm stuck here." He looked forward at the snail's pace that people were leaving. "Which might be a while yet."

Hermione groaned. "Mine too. Seems like the whole sodding ministry had a Floo breakdown." She looked once more at all the people in front of her and felt overwhelmed with the tortuous movement. "No. Fuck this I'm going back to my office. I'd rather be drinking Firewhiskey in there for an hour than waiting here for an hour." She huffed and looked behind her. The way out was relatively clear, but more people were flooding into the mosh pit that was the Atrium, and she didn't have time to waste. On seeing his lips pursed into a barely-there grimace at the situation at hand, she asked on an impulse "do you want to join, Malfoy?"

He looked down at her, unruffled as always. "Have a drink with you, in your office?"

"Sure."

"… Okay." She didn't waste a second and turned on her heel, rushing towards the back of the room.

For once, Malfoy had a hard time keeping up.

She unlocked her door with her wand and threw it onto the couch that took up the back wall. Sitting on it, one could gaze out the window magicked to look like it was snowing. She dropped her briefcase next to her desk and ran her fingers through her hair, wandlessly lighting the fireplace as she did so. The room warmed up quickly.

Draco walked in after her, looking around the room. He'd been here before once or twice. He'd always thought her office was well thought-out and he admired her taste. Watching as she tamed her hair and lit the fireplace, he was reminded that he was with a powerful witch. Hermione Granger, war hero and golden girl of Britain. He folded his coat over the arm of the couch and continued to watch her. She reached up to grab two glasses and a nearly full bottle of Firewhiskey.

"Granger. Is that vintage?" He asked, eyeing the label design. Brown eyes met silver for just a second.

"Yes, it's quite nice." She replied quietly, followed by the tell-tale noise of liquor being uncorked and poured into two glasses. The fire hummed.

She walked over to the couch and settled in, offering him his glass. He joined her, looking out the windows and taking a welcomed sip of the burning amber liquid. "This is expensive stuff, what are you celebrating?"

She shrugged. "Nothing, really." Her eyes turned to his. "Being adored country-wide has its perks, I guess."

He watched her. "Does it?"

"Only superficially." She drank.

"Well if your office is anything to go by…" His eyes swept over mahogany and blood red velvet.

"I'm getting sick of the red. It's too… Griffyndor Hogwarts-y." She said finally, for lack of better explanation.

He nodded, understanding. "I know what you mean." He swallowed before continuing. "The Manor was… suffocatingly green. So, I left." What he'd left unsaid hung in the air. Sure, it was green, but unspeakable things had happened there. She knew that's why he'd moved away.

There was a heavy silence as they both drank deeply.

"Maybe blue." She said lightly, picking up her wand and transfiguring the curtains sapphire.

He hummed in agreement, nodding. She accio'd the bottle and re filled her glass, glancing at his nearly finished one in the process. He handed her the tumbler. She hesitated.

"Malfoy, let me take you out for coffee." She said as whiskey sloshed into crystal.

"Now?" he asked incredulously, surprised at the suddenness of her proposal.

She laughed genuinely and heartily at the expression on his face. "Not right at this second, no. Unless you fancy espresso martinis. Perhaps before work one day? I think you should try real coffee and not continue slinking around the hallways trying to devise palatable concoctions from unworkable ingredients. They don't even have proper milk here, Draco," she said his name exasperatedly, corking the bottle and placing it at her feet. "It's always long-life or powdered. Also, good coffee should never be sugared." Hastily, she added "And don't be fooled, the coffee jar may _say_ espresso, but it's the cheapest freeze-dried garbage they can find."

She spoke his name as if it was nothing, but Draco couldn't miss it. The underlying familiarity. Something they had both begun to blatantly ignore. Perhaps it was the first sip of the second glass of Firewhiskey, but he found himself _comfortable _in her presence.

He thought on her proposition for a second, swirling around the liquor. "Fine. Where do you suggest we go? I am giving you one chance to impress me."

She rolled her eyes at his tone. "Always one to make it dramatic, _Malfoy_." She drank. "I have a favourite place on my way here. You know, assuming you stay the night, after I leave home in the mornin-"

He choked on his liquor and darted incredulous eyes towards her.

She sent him a smirk worthy of a Malfoy and began to laugh. "I'm _joking_, don't get your kickers in a twist." She took a small sip. "It's not far from here actually. Do you go into London much?"

He licked liquid fire off his lips. Her eyes followed his tongue. "I'm not a pureblooded muggle-repellent vampire, Hermione. I can exist in muggle society just fine."

She nodded approvingly. "I am… surprised."

He shrugged. "It's inevitable."

They both took another drink.

"Meet me at half six on Monday morning outside brew & bean." She'd said with finality.

Monday morning Draco met Hermione under an awning in the pouring rain. Typical soaking sodding bloody London. It had been pouring all morning with no hint of letting up.

He found her waiting for him under a tiny awning and he sidled in next to her. He took in the large wooden door before him, _Opening Hours_ etched into the wood. Oak, he noticed. This must be the café. He looked around, shaking out his umbrella slowly. They were on a petit street facing Hyde Park. Thankful that he chose a thick tweed coat, he regretted not wearing more layers. It was still freezing. And incredibly wet. His shoes would surely begin flooding through soon. "Merlin, Granger. You couldn't pick a better morning? I'm going to get gangrene before I take a sip of this fucking drink. Better be worth it." He complained, occupied with trying to collapse the cheap umbrella he'd found for this expedition. The idiot thing had _allowed itself _to be inverted by the wind approximately 6 times during the 15-minute walk from where he lived. Safe to say he was damp and disappointed with its performance. He groaned in annoyance when the Velcro wouldn't stick and gave up, taking the whole thing into his fist and holding it at his side. Droplets coated his fingers.

He heard her clear her throat and looked back down to her. She had watched the whole debacle with amusement, and he could hardly ignore her brown doe-eyed gaze and curled lips. She put on an assertive tone. "Draco, it is hardly my fault that it's raining. Don't act like a simple drying charm is worth more effort than grabbing a coffee with _me_. Your intelligent, hilarious, and oh-so-helpful co-worker."

God, had she read his mind? He was briefly afraid she knew occlumency. Then he realised he'd never forget the feeling of someone invading his mind. It was impossible when Voldemort and his father subjected him to it whenever they had the chance. He learnt to protect himself quickly.

Malfoy refocused, watching a small gloved hand wrap around the handle. She pulled open the heavy door into what looked like the cosiest coffeeshop in London. She had chosen an awfully intimate atmosphere, he thought.

He spotted a fireplace and delicate tables paired with squishy leather chairs strewn around the room. There was a full and sweet aroma that had settled into the place, and the fire crackled ambiently.

This was how he always imaged the Griffyndor common room. Except with more tossers.

She smiled back at him and opened the door for him to take after her. "Hurry up! It's warm inside."

He did as she said and followed her, easily casting a nonverbal drying charm on himself. After all, there was nothing more uncomfortable than wet wool. Granger looked as if she'd copped a fair amount of rain during her journey, her nose and cheeks were red from the unyielding weather. He'd barely made the decision before he felt himself cast an warming charm on her, murmuring the incantation lowly under his breath.

He blanched. He'd just cast a _warming charm _on _Hermione Granger. _As if it were something _casual_ he'd done a million times before. It was usually considered either incredibly invasive, or intimate, to use your magic on someone. He would've had to actually notice that something was wrong with her in the first place. It presupposed a degree of care.

She spun, intending to glare at him, but hesitated for a second. She merely sent him a quick smile. Thanks.

So, now she knew he was observant of her.

Bollocks.

Sure, he felt stress-free being here… with her. He admitted it to himself. But it was fine, they were just co-workers out for coffee, she'd said it herself, right? He saw the words come straight out of those plum lips of hers.

Recreationally hanging out with Granger in a coffee shop in London before work would now be considered a highlight of his social life. Sad, he thought, but undeniably true. The challenge was to somehow act as if she wasn't intelligent and gorgeous.

But why? He asked himself.

He quickly answered his own question. Because, this would be dangerous territory. He knew by now that she was somewhat interested in him, at least as a friend. Merlin, she'd invited him here!

_Fuck. _He wouldn't ruin this by acting oddly. He would act professional. They were colleagues, after all. And their history wasn't exactly pleasant.

Hermione walked through the door to the café, immediately feeling the dry warmth on her freezing cheeks. Roasting coffee beans filled her senses and she felt bliss. Warm café coffee on a freezing Monday morning, what could be better? Especially in possibly the cosiest place known to man. God, she was damp. Her neck was icy, and without a turtleneck, dripped into her under-layers. She was flipping through her head for the Latin when a subtle heat licked at her skin, warming further as the water on her coat evaporated. She sucked in a breath when the sensation licked up her neck into her hair and penetrated under her coat. She knew Draco had done it for the both of them. That was definitely not her own magic.

She turned to look at him for a second, having a mind to berate him for charming her without her permission. Especially being a charm so… bodily. When they locked eyes, her confidence faded, and her heartrate shot up and she'd merely shot him a thankful grin.

Coward, she berated herself. She wouldn't acknowledge that his charm was so deliciously delicate that she'd enjoyed it. Thoroughly. Her skin tingled as she tried to think straight.

Right. A table.

"Now, Granger," Malfoy drawled as they sat, as if nothing had happened. "If I, in fact, _don't _enjoy this coffee, what do I get as compensation for my time?"

She narrowed her eyes at him as she pushed the drink menu towards him. "Whatever could you want, Malfoy? Aside from the pleasure of my company?"

Her lips enunciating _pleasure_. He stalled. Licked his own. "Depends what's up for offer," he murmured, grey eyes perusing the menu. He didn't dare look at her. "Another beverage, perhaps? Something more suited to dusk instead of dawn?" Their eyes met and the waiter arrived.

Hermione blinked. Took a breath. "I'll have an almond cappuccino, thank you." She flashed a sweet smile.

"And for you, sir?"

Draco had not prepared for this. He hesitated, before producing the blandest, most boring set of words one can hear on something that even _resembles_ a date. "I'll have the same." The waiter nodded and left.

Hermione smiled. "You won't regret that." She cocked her head thoughtfully, watching as he slid off his coat and hung it over his seat back. Underneath was his workwear. Perfectly pressed and fitted as usual. Seeing him dressed like this outside the office seemed taboo. Somehow, she found it a little erotic. How did he manage to look so _fucking good?_

Screw it. She decided she would flirt with Draco Malfoy.

She directed her eyes to his hands that were settled on the table and imitated their arrangement. She knew by now that his palms, fingers, _everything, _really, was impeccable, but she allowed herself another glance. His skin was like fine china, and she noticed the size of his palms and fingers up close. They looked divine. She moved her eyes to meet his. "Or perhaps you will regret it, depending on whether or not you want to share another beverage."

He knew it. He'd told himself so. Hermione Granger was _flirting _with him. Well, if the look in her eyes was anything to go by.

He smirked without hesitation, directing his gaze into her and leaning forward a little. "Well then I hope it's completely undrinkable."

In the end, Draco thoroughly enjoyed the drink, and though she didn't want to say I told you so, Hermione had successfully restored his faith in coffee. She took that as a win and teased him about his impending and horrible fate of drinking alone at dusk.

Nevertheless, they agreed to meet on Friday night at seven for not only a drink, but dinner.

Dinner went well.

Dinner went _exceptionally _well.

A bottle of wine went down even better.

Hermione pushed open the glass door to exit the restaurant, slipping on her coat as she went. Draco's fingers lingered on her lower back, barely there, though she felt as if he'd burnt through the wool of her coat and the silk of her dress and his fingertips were conquering the curve of her spine.

At least, she hoped they would.

Diagon alley was bitterly cold, but there were still people wandering around late on New Year's Eve. They had scheduled their date to clash with the ministry's end of year party, on purpose. He'd insisted on paying the bill, and she'd insisted that he'd find a $50 note tucked somewhere suspicious the next morning. At the time, it was a joke. She hadn't even considered taking him home then.

She had decided on it now.

"Granger." Malfoy demanded her attention as she took in the exuberant decorations that Diagon Alley touted for the holiday season. Since everything was repaired, they'd tried to make it as magical as possible.

Quite literally.

"Yes?" She turned to look at him.

"I suppose you'll be heading home now?" He checked his watch, a muggle invention he grew to be quite fond of. He prided himself on his timeliness.

She hesitated. Then; "How about a nightcap?" She knew she shouldn't answer a question with a question, and he couldn't miss how sweetly she'd laced it with insinuation.

He raised an eyebrow.

She hated when he did that.

She swallowed thickly. Who was she kidding?

She _loved _when he did that.

"…My flat isn't far. I've got more of that vintage Firewhiskey you like," she continued quietly, her confidence slowly fading at the blatancy of it all. She was inviting Draco Malfoy into her flat. After a date. For a nightcap. If he didn't know she wanted to shag him at that point when would he ever?

Disrupting her train of thought, he shrugged a carefully nonchalant yes and held his arm out. "Lead the way, Granger."

She later realised she hadn't even let him know whether she had a Floo connection.

It took all of 6 seconds.

1\. Hermione unlocked the door.

2\. They entered.

3\. Took off their shoes.

4\. Draco's eyes swept over her flat. It was small. He saw her watching him. Decided he could look at the details later.

5\. She kissed him.

6\. He kissed back.

Fervently.

They hadn't even taken off their coats.

And just as quickly as it started, Malfoy pushed Hermione away. He caught his breath, staring at her wide-eyed. Then, he groaned with what she took as annoyance and backed away from her. She had been pressed firmly against the mahogany of her front door not 30 seconds ago. What the fuck happened?

She watched incredulous as he ran a hand through his hair, and she closed her eyes. Why did she do this? Why did she bring him back here? _Of course, _he isn't interested. We're colleagues for god's sake. What's _wrong_ with me? How could I just assume any man I come into contact with wants to _shag me?_

Perhaps the fame _had _gone to her head…

She counted to three and opened, seeing him still in front of her.

So, it hadn't been a bad dream. She had been officially rejected, and by Draco Malfoy at that. Would she ever live it down? She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you… uncomfortable. I apologise for… that." Cursing herself for sounding shaky, she waited for his reaction.

"I'm not _uncomfortable_, Granger." He snorted, flipping his hair out of his eyes. He continued lowly, "in fact, I think I'm a little _too _comfortable," with a hint of a sneer, his walls appearing before her eyes.

"Why is that?" He hadn't stopped searching her face since he'd wrenched himself from her arms.

He looked around as if the answers were written all over the walls. "Granger. I'm here, in your _flat, _of all places. After _dinner_. What is it that you expect we're going to do here? Have a tea party? I don't think that's how _this," _he gestured between the two of them "works."

She shook her head at him. "I don't want to have a tea party with you, Draco. I want t-"

"You _have _to stop saying my name like tha-"

"_Why?" _She pressed, getting annoyed at his reluctance. "I know you _like _it."

"I shouldn't."

"Neither should I. But that doesn't stop the fact that I do." She frowned at him from where he stood, weighing up the gravity of her confession. He could leave right now, and it would ruin _everything. _She hoped they would recover from this immense humiliation, on her part at least, at work.

Long legs can really positively impact your life. For Draco Malfoy, it meant that it only took him three strides to travel from her kitchen to her front door. She thought he would push her aside and step into his shoes, running off into the night. But he only stopped in front of her. He stared for a second, obviously considering his next move. From the way his voice reverberated through every cell in her body, she was convinced he'd decided on seduction. "If you tell me where the bathroom is, you'll you fix up that whiskey you promised, won't you, Granger?"

"Down the hallway. First door to the right," she breathed before he regretted his promise to stay.

Draco Malfoy striding past the familiar walls in her hallway was not how she expected her night to progress.

At least, at the beginning. Halfway through the bottomless bottle of wine she'd started imagining his head pressed between her legs.

Once he'd disappeared, she floated to the kitchen. While collecting ice from the freezer, she pondered the three conceivable options for the rest of the night.

1\. Malfoy has a drink and goes home.

2\. Malfoy and she have steamy sex in her couch, then her shower, then her bed. Then he goes home.

3\. Malfoy is escaping out of her bathroom window right now before she even finishes pouring the drinks.

On hearing the bathroom door re-open, she struck out the third option. Only two left.

Bracing herself, she quickly took a swig straight from the bottle. His footsteps re-emerged in the hallway and she picked up her glass.

Turning to watch as he entered the kitchen, she pressed the cool glass to her lips, rolling the crystal texture over her more sensitive skin. She felt inexplicably hot. Some would say her oral fixation was something to do with her parental issues… an oedipal thing. She maintained it was just her anxiety. Goes down badly either way, she thought.

She handed a glass to Malfoy, who managed to look distractingly at home in her kitchen. Yet again tall and handsome, swathed in perfectly fitted black robes, yet again, sliding his coat off the same way he did in the café.

Slowly.

Sensually, she thought. Maybe the booze influenced her to think like this. Either way, she admired it. She'd found herself developing some sort of strange addiction to the sight of him shrugging off his outerwear. He folded it and left it on the counter, picking up the whiskey, cheering to her with a nod of his head.

He downed the whole glass in one gulp.

She realised he was nervous, and with a chuckle said, "Thirsty, Malfoy?"

"Only if you keep filling up the glass." He brought his fingers up to his neck, undoing the simple black tie that was fastened there. She watched as he undid it, indulging in his fingers.

"I've got throes of the stuff in the cellar; it could take a while to… quench you."

"Yes, perhaps hours, in fact," he murmured, grey eyes fighting to stay on her face and not linger around the various parts of her body. He put his glass on the counter quietly and began to roll up his shirt sleeves with firm fingers. "Is it just me or is your flat quite warm?" He purred, catching her eyes before looking back down to unbutton the other cuff.

"I stoked the fire." She simply said, finishing she rest of her drink while she stared at his forearms. The looked wholly enchanting; she imagined seeing that how that vein would react as he pumped two fingers insid-.

"Another?" he asked, interrupting her positively sinful train of thought. He grabbed the bottle and uncorked it, the tell-tale noise muffled inside the warm room.

She nodded, pushing her glass towards him. "Thanks again for dinner, Draco. The restaurant you chose was magnificent."

He smirked. "Well it's not every day one gets to take out their intelligent, hilarious, and oh-so-helpful co-worker," he repeated her earlier words at the café with a teasing grin, continuing nonchalantly, "so, I thought I'd offer you the extreme privilege of being in _my_ presence. I consider myself thoroughly taken out, Granger."

She snorted, her glass halfway to her lips. "Yes, Malfoy, always a pleasure." He watched her down it, seeing her throat massage the liquid. He wondered what else she could do with that anatomy.

"Now, Granger, you can't expect me to feel welcomed without a house tour, can you?" he tried, waiting for her response.

2\. Malfoy has a drink and goes home.

A second strike to the list. What was that last option, again?

She laughed. He took that as a good sign.

"Fine. Here's the kitchen." She swayed her arms around her body unenthusiastically. "Lo and behold. The room with the dishwasher and the fridge."

She walked a couple steps into a larger room with a couch and various other instalments. She turned to look at him. He hadn't moved and was merely 10 meters away, still in the open kitchen. "Here's the living room. This place _truly_ is a mansion. I expect you of all people to understand." He shot her a smirk and followed her down the hall to the bathroom. "You've already used the loo," she threw a nod to the closed door.

"And… here's the bedroom." She added hastily, opening the door. Malfoy brushed past her quickly, rather like a cat, comfortably leaning against the inside wall.

How did he manage to look more at home in her own house than she did?

"Ah yes, Granger's bedroom. What dirty secrets do we have hiding in here?" he quirked an eyebrow and she blushed.

"Honestly? Not very many," she replied, eyes scanning the four-poster bed and sensible furniture. She had books strewn over every free surface.

"Don't be so sure about that," he said, "I'm here, aren't I?"

She snorted reflexively. That was her stock-standard reaction whenever Malfoy said something outrageous.

He raised an eyebrow. "Don't act surprised. Were you _not_ the one voraciously snogging me behind your front door about 15 minutes ago?"

She flushed beet red. How dare he ridicule her? Looking down at her, he cocked his head. "I never would've thought for you to… pounce… on me like that. I guess I should never have underestimated you."

She sighed, becoming instantly aggravated at his teasing. "Malfoy, if you just want to make fun of me all evening, you know where the door is, and more importantly-"

More importantly, Draco used his foot to casually push himself off the wall and began to stalk towards her. His eyes hadn't left hers the whole time.

She felt fingers behind her ears, a wide palm on her jaw. His face was carefully blank as she craned her neck further to maintain eye contact. She didn't know if it was the alcohol in her veins or the fact that Draco Malfoy's face was mere centimetres from _her_ face, but the grey of his eyes swam before her. His thumb traced her earlobe, and she blinked slowly, not allowing herself to visibly close her eyes and let him know she enjoyed his ministrations. Her eyes strayed to his lips. Pink and slightly parted, the bottom lip was full and the top had an aristocratic cupids bow.

Such a picturesque mouth. She felt his hand angle up her head. Their eyes met again.

And then Draco Malfoy's picturesque mouth was _kissing _her. She caught his bottom lip between her own, and her hand slid around his hips to press into the small of his back. She could feel the curve of his spine as her fingertips milled around the hard leather of his belt. She already knew he had a great arse, if the way he walked around the ministry every day in _those pants _was anything to go by. She'd often found herself admiring the apparent strength of his legs.

Hadn't she been saying something? Wasn't she just on the brink of kicking him out?

She slid her hand back around and splayed it against his chest, not missing just how hard his whole body was. Pushing those _soft _lips off her and narrowing her eyes at him, albeit half-heartedly, she muttered, "Draco, you can't just silence me like that."

Watching her with a dark-eyed amusement, he slid his fingers into her hair and pressed his whole body against hers. Of course, they slotted together like fucking Tetris. Why wasn't she surprised? Struck with his proximity, she could smell expensive cologne mixed with the oils on his skin. She noticed cinnamon undertones.

"It seems like I very well _can,_ Granger." His fingertips played with the hem of her dress, lightly brushing across the skin on her thighs. Her body betrayed her and broke out violently in gooseflesh. She knew he could feel it.

She sucked in a breath when he trailed upwards underneath her hem. Slowly. Tantalisingly.

He wrapped his hand around the back of her thigh, and she let him part her legs. Not very far, just enough for him to nestle his knee in between hers.

"What was it that you were saying?" He hummed, running the tip of his nose sinfully along her cheekbone.

She lacked the self-control to _not_ take him then and there. Not when his body was deliciously flush on hers like that.

Her hand gripped onto his blondness and she felt the smirk on his mouth when she roughly pulled him in.

She found that he was really _incredible_ at kissing.

His hands trailed down her back and pulled her waist into his hips. More of his thigh became entangled between hers, and she let out a breathy moan. It was hovering frustratingly close to her cunt. She'd been aroused under the table the whole evening.

When her and Malfoy's ankles touched under the table, neither of them had pulled away. She'd felt electric from when the waiter offered their first drink to when they shared the Crème Brule with just one spoon.

Making it to the bed certainly wasn't a chore. Hermione walked Draco's knees back until they folded, and he sat on the edge, keeping an eye on Hermione as she closed the door. Somewhere in the room a lamp flicked on.

Instead of pouncing on him again, she merely sat down next to him. The sides of their bodies were in full contact; ankle to shoulder. She turned her gaze upwards, and on seeing him looking down at her with dark eyes, she kissed him again. When he began to lean her back into the duvet, a hand splayed on her back and the other curled into her hair, she moved further onto the bed, grabbing the front of his shirt with her fist and forcing him to crawl along with her, their lips still engaged. The mattress was squeaky and a little lumpy, but she'd charmed it for comfort.

He saw brown curls splayed about her head on a pillow. Her hair had always been appealing to him. He'd had one too many _detailed_ fantasies where his hands had ended up lost in it. Bent over her ministry desk, riding him in his desk chair, pressing into her wetness during a risky elevator ride. If tonight went well, he would _certainly _be fixated on making those fantasies a reality.

He laid beside her, head propped up on one elbow and the other sliding down her body. Draco was painfully hard. It would almost be uncomfortable if he didn't have a gorgeous witch lying beneath his fingertips. He trailed one of them down her neck while they kissed and used his palm to slide the sleeve of her dress off a lightly freckled shoulder. He found the skin on her collarbone soft and supple, and he let his hand dance across her neck and down to her waist, pulling her directly underneath his body. He felt her gasp against his mouth, and he decided that it was the most delicious thing she'd done yet.

He grew more excited for what would come. He wanted to elicit as may sounds out of her as possible tonight.

She deepened the kiss, darting her tongue out and fleetingly dragging it against his own before retreating back into her honey flavoured mouth. He demanded more, sweeping his own tongue against her lip, seducing her. She obliged, and their kiss all tongue and teeth. Hermione's hands disentangled themselves from his hair and started to make short work of his shirt. He'd already loosened his tie in the kitchen, thank Merlin. She wondered how her feverish hands would work their way around that knot. Her nimble fingers pulled apart his buttons one by one to expose his chest. She rested her neck to ogle him.

She saw the scars from Harry's Sectumsempra and a dozen other ones that she didn't want to know about. They'd all endured pain during the war. Some more than others.

Luckily enough for Draco, his pain had become deceptively sexy. The scars on his pale skin looked iridescent. For someone she assumed spent their days skulking and sneering, he maintained himself well. He'd grown, physically, since Hogwarts. He used to look like a scared and pale teenager, which he was. He definitely didn't look weak anymore.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Teasingly soft fingers disturbed her train of thought, sliding up her thigh and pulling with it her evening dress. In the restaurant he couldn't help but stare as she'd sidled out of her coat, revealing a thick black silken dress. He could immediately tell what fine quality it was. It hung along her curves magnificently, and the long sleeves that clasped at her wrist hung weightily on the fabric, exposing her collarbones. He felt like he'd been given a private glance at Grangers skin the whole night. It was undeniably intimate, and she was undeniably beautiful. They talked politics and art and science and love, each pleased with the others' ability to keep up. He'd had a hard time keeping his eyes off her red painted lips. He noticed now that the lipstick had disappeared. Assumed most of it had been absorbed by his own mouth.

He traced the cotton of her underwear, and her legs parted further. She writhed underneath him, demanding a more direct approach.

He gave into her desire, touching her through already-slick cotton. "Did you grow aroused during dinner?" He murmured, lightly brushing her swollen clit, eyes exploring her face now that his lips weren't enclosing hers. She nodded, biting her bottom lip to stop herself from mewling and thrashing her head. She needed release so badly already. The sound of his deepened, softened, _aroused_ murmur made her feel all different kinds of warm.

He pressed the pads of his fingertips more insistently into her swollen skin, and she cried out, back arching off the bed, hands twisting the sheets underneath her. He hadn't even removed his belt and she was about to be finger fucked around her underwear with her dress hanging haphazardly off her shoulders.

"Answer me, Hermione." He demanded, removing the friction she desperately needed without blinking. His eyes were utterly focused on her.

"Yes," she gasped out desperately, "I fantasised about you the whole night."

His breath hitched, but he stayed silent. He led a finger underneath damp green fabric and was welcomed with her plentiful warmth. Their eyes remained locked as he pressed a finger inside her. She demanded he continue with two. Told him she wouldn't last long.

His lips descending on her clitoris set off her orgasm, the small bundle of nerves releasing while she tightened around his fingers in waves. She melted into the duvet and he scooped her back up, putting her back together with kisses peppering her thighs and stomach.

Her lips were swollen and chewed-at, but that didn't stop her from tasting herself on his tongue when he appeared in front of her face, strikingly dishevelled. It felt incredibly erotic. She'd never been so turned on in her life.

She heard him unbuckling his belt with one hand, the other propping himself up over her. She took it upon herself to reach down and release his fly. There was an unmistakeable tension against the fabric. She moaned into his mouth when she released his cock and began to stroke it, feeling velvet skin glide over hardness. He closed his eyes, and she let herself admire high, pale cheekbones. She was surprised at his eyelashes; how long they were. The silvery tips almost disguised their loveliness.

His jaw was sharp, and only a day's worth of stubble peppered his skin. The head of his cock was a shade darker than his lips, and certainly slicker. Precum coated the taut and almost-purple head, giving it a delicious glaze.

She wanted a taste.

Taking advantage of his precarious balance, she sent him tumbling to her side. He kicked off his ankles what was left of his clothes. She settled in between his legs and didn't hesitate before taking him into her mouth, grabbing one of his hands and shoving it into her hair.

He realised she wanted him to fuck her face, and he almost coated her throat right there. He refused to close his eyes, thankful that the pillows propped him up so that he could see her pretty little lips wrapped around his cock.

He could hardly handle her ministrations, moaning each time she used her tongue to flick the head, swirling around it so expertly that it was almost _inappropriate_. It had been a while since he'd taken a witch to bed. He knew he wouldn't last long if she continued like this.

"Granger, you are positively devilish," he ground out through clenched teeth. He firmly pulled her mouth off his cock with a quiet _pop_ and pulled her above him, hips poised above his own.

He could just see her lips, covered in soft brown curls. For some reason he knew he wouldn't expect Granger to remove her pussy hair.

Instead of sinking himself into her heat, he reached out a finger and trailed it up her slit, groaning to find that she was practically drenched. "Merlin, Hermione." He breathed, taking in her body poised above him. Her breasts were full, and nipples perked. She had shapely shoulders and a slender neck. Her thighs looked strong, he assumed from being on the run and fighter in the war for years. He admired her then in every way, bringing his slick fingertip into his mouth. She hummed at the sight.

"Please, Draco," she breathed. Her core was positively _burning _to be filled. She could tell he had the exact tool for the task. In fact, he seemed more than able. She was eager to find out for herself.

He grabbed the base of his cock and angled it for her as she sunk down on it, both their whimpers dancing in the silence. Their wide eyes stayed locked. Drenched was an understatement. She sheathed his cock with ease, feeling her walls stretched and stroked as she began to ride him. Her head fell back, and a delectable moan fell from her lips into the cool night air.

"Oh, _Draco." _

Her fingers clasped his shoulders and she picked up the pace; she felt him meeting her with each thrust. Oh merlin, she was going to explode.

He pulled out completely and she whined. "Lie down," he commanded.

She indulged in his deepened, commanding tone, spreading her legs for him, looking up at him through her dark eyelashes.

"Hermione," he murmured, pressing himself back into her smoothly, "beautiful."

She silently screamed; her relief palpable. "Fuck me." She hissed into his ear, biting his neck roughly and sucking hard, sliding her hands down his back and grasping his ass, meeting every thrust of his easily, rhythmically. And what an exquisite song they made.

He kissed her and they became heated, writhing and sweating, drinking each other in. They had obviously been parched for a while.

He'd stroked her into a frenzy, and she felt her second orgasm building. She pulled her hands from his back and grabbed at the pillow beside her, biting it to muffle her screams.

Draco had to stop thrusting so her beating walls and screwed up face didn't send him hurtling towards his own release.

Her chest was still heaving when she whispered, "flip me over. I want to feel you as deep as I can."

He cursed at her request, pulling out and firmly grabbing her waist, flipping her eager body and pulling her ass into the air. She held open her lips for him, granting immediate access. He smacked a flat hand over her cunt, and she squealed at the sudden sensation on such sensitive skin. He took in the view.

Hermione Granger bent over, face in pillow, with curly brown hair cascading over her waist and back. Not to mention the gleaming pink pussy she'd willingly shoved into his face.

_Fuck. _

And then his cock was inside her again, faster and harder than before, and she was entirely _howling _into her pillow.

Draco leaned over her, pulling her up onto her wrists before grabbing a handful of that thick hair. He kissed and sucked and licked at her neck and shoulders while she tried to silence herself in vain.

He finally allowed his own pleasure to build, taking her jaw into his palm as she arched her back into him, kissing her deeply from behind. Her ass was pressed up against his stomach and she continued to moan into their kiss, which became increasingly chaotic. His balls were striking her clit in an electrifying manner, and she felt herself become feverish. This was it. He was going to ejaculate inside of her. The thought of Draco's hot cum surging into her swollen cunt sent her over the edge.

She cried out his name, and his palm covered her mouth, capturing her remaining screams. His thrusts became more irregular until she heard him moan loudly, slamming into her already satiated cunt until her name fell from his lips and he unloaded himself inside of her. She had been watching him over her shoulder, transfixed at the sight.

Their eyes met.

It was a beautiful monstrosity.

They fell asleep not long after, still tangled around each other.

Hermione awakes early the next morning with half the bed already immaculately made. She realises she slept soundlessly without potions for the first time in years.

She stretches, seeing that he _so _carelessly left his wand on her haphazardly constructed stack of books at the bedside.

She knows he did that on purpose.

She knows _he _knows why he did that.

She peers closer, squinting to focus on his cursive scrawl.

_You'd be mistaken to think you don't still owe me that cigarette, Hermione. _

She decides that last night will become a regular occurrence.

Monday can't come any faster, she thinks, rolling over and shoving her face into a feathered pillow to hide her grin.


End file.
